


A typical day in the clinic

by Warlady



Series: Facts in Cybertronian medic's lore [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mech Preg, Romance, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warlady/pseuds/Warlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cybertron is in peace. The inhabitants are making titanic works to rebuild an entire planet, a new society and obviously a thriving race. This last in the oldfashioned way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A typical day in the clinic

**Author's Note:**

> Re-vamp and repost, with the great help of a Vedda.

_Autobot Operation Base_

_Memorandum_

_From: Optimus Prime_

_For:    Autobots, ex-Decepticons_

_Subject:  Improper behavior_

_Multiple complaints had reached the Council Member’s ears about the improper behavior of some Autobots and ex-Decepticons, namely the unrestrained show of effusive romantic conduct that can be offensive for our visitors or some people that work in this facility._

_I recommend all of you to keep such demonstrations in the boundaries of the private areas and in proper hours, that is off-shift._

 

Optimus had called Megatron to give him the memo.

 

Megatron’s functions as Lord High Protector didn’t include dealing with the sexual drive of the ex-Decepticons. But, given his ex-followers still recognized his authority, the Prime had decided to ask for help and counsel.

 

“What happened now?” Megatron asked, very amused, it was not usual to be called by the Prime, and the “advice” part included in the communication was even less usual.

 

“Bumblebee, Smokscreen and a Vehicon inside a closet. Have I to explain further?” Optimus gave Megatron the document, a tired sigh leaving his ex-vent.

 

“If you want to have a very aroused ex-Decepticon’s leader in your office, go ahead.”  The jesting tone was not missing in Megatron’s voice.

 

Optimus felt his face-plates going blue at the last remark, though he decided to continue and pay not mind to the comment.

 

“Knockout and Ratchet too, during their shift, doing…stuff in our clinic. Not to mention Wheeljack and Bulkhead, I have a serious complaint about their loud activities.”

 

“Stuff? Have you problems calling the things by their proper names? Who would ever imagine it? So your prude Autobots are doing naughty things with those evil Decepticons. How is that a problem? Ok, I admit the interface during the shift could affect productivity, but my ex-minions are a very organized lot, they could manage.”

 

“No, it’s not about productivity! Megatron. By Primus, they are fragging where everyone can see them! What would Cybertronian people think about us?” Optimus was practically bellowing.

 

“That we are a very happy bunch of bots? Come on, Optimus, relax. Although I admit three adult mechs cramped in a tiny closet could be very uncomfortable. Maybe bigger closets are in order.”

“Megatron, this is serious!” The Prime scolded, using his most stern tone of voice.

 

“Well, in the Nemesis it was never a problem. I let all my crew frag whomever they choose and wherever they felt comfortable enough.”

 

“Scandalous!” Prime’s eyes went wide in shock.

 

“Maybe, but it was wonderful for the crew’s moral!” 

 

*******

 

“Ouch, careful, that hurts!” Wheeljack twisted and turned under the servos of Knockout.

 

The Wreaker was blue in the face by the effort made to keep from screaming, surely the embarrassing position he was in only accentuated the bluish tint. He would die in shame if someone ever found out he had been laid on a medical berth, with his legs spread in the air, his pedes on the stirrups, and under the dubious manipulation of the ex-Decepticon medic.   He would have prefered to be attended by Ratchet, but he was sure the old medic would scold him about his lesions and the cause of them. After all, this was not the first time he came to the clinic with the same kind of indentations, in the same part of his frame.

 

The red medic was patiently hammering out the severe dents in the Wrecker inner thighs. The special surgical hammer was inserted deep through the knee junction between the plating and the mesh, any pressure in the handle’s button made the head of the tool hit the plate in the inside side, popping the compressed metal out.

 

“Fragging Pit!” Wheeljack swore through gritted dentae. He was a hardened warrior, used to keep fighting after any kind of wounds; he even sported proudly deep scars in his faceplates.  But the sensation of the instrument, between his plating and the sensitive protoform was particularly excruciating.

 

“Well, you didn’t want the pain reliever, though if you can’t handle I can put it in right now.”  Knockout said, looking at the tray of tools, the mentioned suppressor was ready and at hand.

 

“No way I am leaving you immobilize me from waist down!” Wheeljack hissed when a special acute hit rattled his plating.

 

“Ok, that was the last one, now don’t move.” Knockout removed the instrument out with a single clean pull.

 

“Aaaaaahhh!” Wheeljack screamed, that had felt as if the medic had ripped out his protoform with tweezers.

 

The distinct noise of glass breaking made Knockout wince.

 

“What in the Pit is going on in here? I could hear your screams from the laboratory.” Ratchet entered the room, he looked especially irritated. He had been inventorying the laboratory crystalware in the adjacent room and startled by the last shout he had dropped a whole set of beakers.

 

“This ex-Con is not a medic but a scrap-trader!” Wheeljack replied. He removed his pedes from the stirrups rapidly and sit on the berth, his thighs’ protoform was still stinging.

 

“It’s not my fault that Mr. **‘ _Yo-soy-muy-macho’_** didn’t let me suppress the sensorial perception in the affected area.” The red mech put aside the tool and cleaned some droplets of energon from his servos with disinfectant liquid and a sterile cloth.

 

Ratchet looked intently the scene. When he noticed the stirrups on place, instead of retracted as they were usually in common procedures, he scowled.

 

“I only have to paint and polish and he will be good as new.” Knockout said, airbrush already in a hand and a flask of white paint in the other.

 

“I won’t let your servos tinker with my plating, again! Ratchet could finish…”

 

The Wreaker was cut short by Ratchet’s bellowing. “Like Pit I’m going to do such a thing! If I’m correct this is the tenth time you come here with the same kind of injuries. Do you think we are as dense as to not know those are dents left by Bulkhead’s savage thrusting inside your valve? Knockout is only too kind as not voice it out, but by Primus I am not going to attend you ever again for your lack of control, neither will him. Besides, what is wrong with you two? It’s interfacing not a fragging demolition race.” Ratchet stated.

 

“Bulk wants sparklings! He wants them so badly!” Wheeljack said. He forgot suddenly the pain in his limbs, he looked contrite and mortified at the same time.

 

In fact, the two Wreakers were now properly Sparkbonded, and were trying too hard to create sparklings. The good old-fashioned way, no Vector-Sigma or laboratories involved, they wanted children gestated by a carrier and sharing both creators coding.

 

“What? Are you crazy? This is serious, carrying sparklings, specially the kind and quantity that Bulkhead can sire, can endanger your life. He was a low class worker, Wheeljack, he is capable of sire rather big offspring, not to mention numerous litter.” Ratchet explained.

 

Wheeljack was not a slender bot, neither a small one, he even was stocky for a speedster. Though, his Conjunx-Endura was really massive in frame. Although he absolutely adored Bulkhead, his sexual attentions were becoming frankly painful. It was a miracle their intense efforts in building up a family had not caused a pelvic dislocation in the receiving end of the pair.

 

“But, he wants a family! Primus I want a family too!” Wheeljack looked on the brink of crying.

 

While Ratchet was talking with the speedster, Knockout’s had been filing up some records in his pad, reviewing some test results. He suddenly found out something he suspected.

 

“Don’t worry, you will have a family!” Knockout exclaimed delighted, Wheeljack and Ratchet looked at the other medic.

 

“Did you find something in the scan you performed on me? Am I sparked?” Wheeljack’s jumped from the berth, his optics wide in shock and his voice dismayed.

 

“Well, for a mech that is so vehemently trying to get himself sparked you sound too appalled. No, you are not. But Bulkhead was here in the morning. It seems he is feeling unusually tired and his tank had been revolted as of late. I thought maybe he had some virus, so I performed a routine scan and nothing was wrong with his fuel system so just recommended him to stay at home and rest. Though, now that I reviewed the full results, I just noticed he is so very sparked, I count five sparklings. Well done, mon ami.” Knockout grinned widely.

 

“Five! Primus! I can’t believe it!” Wheeljack felt his knees giving away, he had to grab the side of the berth to prevent his falling. After some klicks, several rapid in-vents and a weird fluttering sensation in his spark, the Wreaker gained some stability. “Bulk will be allright?” Wheeljack asked, suddenly worried about his mate.

 

“For Bulkhead’s frame and bearing, five sparklings won’t be a problem. But, I recommend you not to enter in interface activities as a passive part, until I can appoint a contraceptive device implantation for you. We do not want you getting sparked at the same time your bonded one is, do we?  For once you only have to give him all the transfluid he would need to create protoforms for those sparklings.” The young medic lectured.

 

“Knockout, it’s unprofessional to give away information from other patient!” Ratchet scolded. Although his small smile ruined his attempt to sound grumpy. He was so happy for his friends.

 

“Aw, don’t be a spoilsport, Wheeljack and Bulkhead are bonded, he has all the rights to know. So, Wheeljack, you can give him the good news. I will book another visit to give further recommendations. You still need that paint, though.”

 

“I have not time for that, I am running back home!” Wheeljack ran for the exit, a goofy grin painted in his face plate.

 

Both medics winced when they heard the engine of the speedster’s alt form roaring and the tires screeching.

 

“I hope he doesn’t crash in his way home, which could be very anticlimactic.” The red mech put the tools he had used inside the closest sink.

 

“I think this will save us for a while from those embarrassing and boring procedures.” Ratchet commented.

 

“Don’t play the prude, it doesn’t suit you. Besides, don’t you think is romantic how those two interfaced too hard for a noble goal as to grow up a family?” Knockout smiled sweetly, while he turned on the faucet, filling up the sink with antiseptic liquid.

 

“Well, given there are not more appointments for today, I will show you how interface can have other goals, maybe not as noble, but way more satisfying.” Ratchet encircled Knockout’s thin waist and pulled his frame to him. He immediately crushed his mouth against the other’s in a languid and long kiss.

 

Knockout broke the contact for a klick. “And...the inventory?” He whispered, already short of air for his voice box to function properly.

 

“To the Pit with the inventory!” Ratchet growled and re-started his attack on the red mech’s lip plates.

 

*******

 

Ratchet urged his lover to the back part of the clinic, where they had a cozy room they used when there was some patient that needed constant guard. Luckily there were not patients at the moment. Meanwhile he closed the main gate, locked it and turned off the lights in the front of the building.

 

When the door to the little berthroom swished open and Ratchet entered he noticed the lights were dimmed to a violet soft glow.

 

In the middle of the berth Knockout displayed one of his most enticing poses. The young one was semi reclined on his left side, his right leg crossed over the other, his knee on the berth, and his helm supported on his left palm. His red optics were half dimmed, and he sported a sultry smile on his lip plates. He tapped softly the mattress in invitation “Come here, mon amour.” He purred.

 

If Ratchet didn’t know it was biologically impossible, he’d swear he heard the point of his spike hitting his codpiece. As it was, he surely felt himself uncomfortably tight inside his modesty panel. He walked swiftly to the berth and in a rushed movement he pinned the red frame with his own, eliciting an acute yelp from the ex-con.

 

“Careful with the finish!” Knockout all but whined.

 

“I’ll give you finish, you lewd little ‘con” Ratchet growled and buried his face in the tendons of the red mech’s neck, nuzzling, sucking and finally giving a bite to one of the inner energon lines. It was not hard enough as to break the line, yet enough as to send a wave of sharp pain. Knockout hissed, his sight going blank for a klick

 

The red mech liked some pain mixed with his pleasure, and Ratchet had learned the exact dose and the precise places that sent him reeling up into bliss. Besides, the word _‘con_ meant this was one of those days when the old mech was going to use vulgar expletives on him; such obscenities coming from Ratchet’s voice box in the moments of their frag were like sweet endearments to Knockout.

 

“You like it rough, don’t you? You like to be fragged hard, Decepticon slut.” Ratchet’s words left his lipplates along with hot ex-vented air directly into Knockout audials. “How about your sensitive seams, do you want to feel some pain there?”

 

Ratchet didn’t wait a reply, he inserted his digits in the seams at the sides of Knockout waist. Maneuvering through the cabling until he found the precise ones he was looking for. A tweak in each side sent a stinging sensation and a shot of raw pleasure to the red mech’s neural net.

 

Knockout hissed, the entire set of his plating flared open, leaving free access to stimulation.

 

“Horny, are you Decepticon slag?.” Ratchet’s voice was husky already. He slid his digits under Knockouts plates, pinching delicate tendons and lines, mapping the entire frame, setting alight every sensitive node hidden in the confines of his lover’s form. He had not even touched Knockout below the waist and the ex-con was reduced to a trembling heap of sensations and moans.

 

“You are a fragging tease, Autobot!”  The red mech had enough presence of processor to reply, before the sudden intrusion of Ratchet in the seams where his inner thighs joined to his hips. With a soft press to a particular set of lines he sent an intense lash of pleasure to Knockout’s core.

 

“Nnghhh, ahh...right there…” Knockout was cut short by the sound of his modesty panel sliding away. Ratchet surely had mastered the precise moves that left his lover not only revved up but uncovered before him. “Eager to delve inside of me, aren’t you?” The red mech chided, faking a scold.

 

“You sincerely look cute when you try to look angry.” Ratched chuckled, admiring the artistic work that was Knockout’s interface array. The dark blue valve was tight and inviting, some droplets of lubricant were leaking through the folds and the anterior node already peeking out from its soft sheath at the apex of the port. The spike, at least a notch above the average size, was pressurizing before his eyes: overlapping rings of red plating leaving exposed the inner cabling and mesh, where magenta biolights signaled the overly sensitive nodes that received static and turned it into pulses of charged ions. “You are beautiful!”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Knockout replied reclining on the bed and parting his thighs wider to put in full display to the last bit of his interface.

 

“You are a wanton slut!” Ratchet rebuked playfully.

 

“That I knew. AAAAh, Primus, yeeeees!” He was caught by surprise when the older medic’s lipplates pressed against his open valve.

 

Knockout had discovered Ratchet was not only a professional with his hands, he had a talented mouth too.  The red mech just stayed there, enjoying the heated ministrations; from the leisurely teasing movements of the glossa against the port folds, that left him taking air by his secondary vents and trembling in need of more, to the secure, rapid and strong lapping of his anterior node that made him shut off his optics and keen in pure bliss.  Although, his undoing was when the good Autobot doctor enveloped the upper part of his folds along with the gloriously sensitive anterior node with his lipplates and sucked, repeatedly, the combination of Knockout’s’ lubricant along with Ratchet’s oral fluids leaking copiously from this latter’s chin.

 

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, I’m coming, I’m……..” this and a series of shaken moans signaled Knockout’s sudden overload.

 

“Well, that was fast!” Ratchet commented, cleaning his lipplates with the dorsal part of his servo. He was not surprised, though, he had learned every bit of his lover’s port and exploited thoroughly this knowledge. “For a ‘con you are very fond of those human expletives.” Ratchet watched at the red mech while he was slowly coming to his senses. The elder mech loved the sight of his colleague like this, short of air, optics slowly focusing, the bluish tint of energon still covering his usually porcelain faceplates and the soft hum of his fans. Though he cherished the pride that filled his spark knowing it was his performance what had reduced Knockout to such delectable state.

 

“Fast indeed, but amazing!” Knockout whispered, his eyes dimly lighted. “But, you missed a part.” The red mech took his still very hard spike in his servo, give it a couple of strokes and let out an ex-vented gasp.

 

“You insatiable little thing! I will show you what is missing!”

 

Knockout yelped when Ratchet, with a speed and strength absolutely not common in mechs of his age, took the younger medic’s both pedes and rolled him to lay on his front. “Wait, what do you plan to do?”

 

“I thought it was obvious. I’m gonna _fuck_ you through the berth!”

 

The sound of Ratchet’s codpiece retracting away filled Knockout with trepidation. He was not used to be fragged without previous preparation. He was already well lubricated, but with Ratchet he needed at least some stretching with his digits (Ratchet big and wonderful digits), or with one of the toys they had introduced into their foreplay. Surely he liked a little pain, but just not down there, not during proper interface.

 

The older medic positioned atop the younger one, supporting his frame with his servos at both sides of the prone frame under him. Using one of his knees he parted the legs of the smaller mech.

 

A recall flashed through Knockout’s processor. He was in the same position, yet  his valve was dry, tightly closed. The walls of that room were dark and decrepit, and the smell…Primus the horrid smell of stale Energon and waste liquid, and suddenly the pain…

 

“No, Ratchet, please, stop!” Knockout screamed in pure panic.

 

Ratchet halted truly alarmed. It was not common to hear that edge of fear in his lover’s voice. He flared open his E.M. field, reaching for Knockout’s.  He felt the peak of horror instead the usual cheerfulness. He removed from his place atop the red mech and waited, kneeled beside the prone form.

 

Knockout shifted his position until he was sitting on the bed, his knees against his chest and his arms around them. He looked at Ratchet in the optics. Some tears in his own.“Sorry, I…it’s just…”

 

“Knockout, you can trust me, you know it. What is wrong? Did I go too far with the pain? Or the words I used were too offensive?”

 

“No, you were doing just great, until…I can’t, not from behind, not without preparation. Please, don’t ask me why, just promise me you won’t try it again.”

 

The old medic understood in that moment that something very wrong had happened in the past, someone had hurt Knockout. But he would not ask, as he had requested. “I promise, we can’t stop right now and have a good recharge.”

 

“No, I want…need this, only, I want to see your face, alright? And just for today, no more rude words.” He reclined again on the berth.

 

“Ok, I will stretch you if that is what you want.”

 

“No, do it, go ahead, mon amour, make me yours.”

 

Ratchet placed his frame atop Knockout, carefully parting the slender thighs with his knee.

 

“Relax, I won’t hurt you. Tell me to stop whenever you want and I will.”

 

At this words Knockout’s fear disappeared. He felt reassured. He knew for sure Ratchet wouldn’t hurt him, never, ever. He had been at his side, caring for him, teaching him...loving him.

 

“Can I?” Ratchet asked once more.

 

Knockout nodded.

 

Ratchet put the head of his spike against the wet, tight valve. He pushed slowly, feeling the port giving away. He almost lost it right there, just by the feeling of the small portion of his cord snuggled in that welcoming heat. He took a deep in-vent through his intake trying to get a grip on the imminent desire to ram into Knockout. “How are you there?”

 

“Hmm, good, very good, push a little more, I’m ready.” Knockout had his optics almost shut, concentrating in the heat of Ratchet’s body so close, the little electric tendrils already forming between their interface equipment.

 

Ratchet pushed inside, feeling how the cavity expanded to accommodate more of him. A whimper from his lover made him stop. “Knockout?”

 

“Don’t worry...just...just give me a klick.” The red mech had felt a twinge, more like a burning sensation than real pain, he relaxed, cycling air in, until his innermost interface components adjusted to the sudden invasion. “Ah, a little more, Ratchet.” He asked, bracing himself.

 

Ratchet’s self-control was legendary, he could keep himself composed when many bots gave themselves to desperation. But the slow conquer of that un-stretched, hot valve was driving him mad. His legs were trembling, he had his brow furrowed and his lip caught by his upper dentae. Another push, and he was halfway, while his sensornet was already sending signals of overcharging.

 

Knockout felt again the burnt, and his inner walls slowly recalibrating to better accommodate Ratchet’s girth. It was uncomfortable yet not overly painful. He could mentally map the depth of the penetration and was sure his lover was stalling to not hurt him. All of a sudden a blissful lash of pleasure ran through his frame. He had been so absorbed in his doubts as to forget the friction and contact of the neural nodes created charge that surely was already coursing from their interface components to their capacitors. Urged by his basic impulses the red mech canted his pelvis and thrust back to meet Ratchet’s next push, impaling himself to the hilt.

  
A hiss and a cry. Ratchet hissed by the delicious sensation of being buried deeply inside Knockout, without the previous stretch it was a very tight fit. Knockout cried in bliss, he felt some pain, but a way too good kind of pain.  

 

“Hmmm, you are so tight!” Ratchet’s voice were already laced with static.

 

“Oh, Ratchet, mon amour, fuck me rough!” The red mech encouraged, eager.

 

Those words were music for the elder medic’s audials, and so he obliged pulling out almost all his spike and thrusting hard, eliciting another cry from the younger one.

 

Ratchet had learned how to sync with Knockout, and soon both were performing a kind of dance. Ratchet’s long strong pushes and the undulating motion of the red mech’s pelvic elements were the choreography, the combination of their grunts, moans and keening sounds were the perfect cadence.

 

Their E.M. fields soon flared out crashing one against the other. Both medic’s subroutines had modified after many romantic encounters. Their automatic systems reacted to deal with such intense contact of fields, turning it into a pulsing harmonic flow of energy that bathed both frames with its potent, blazing force.

 

The static danced over their frames in blue arcs, though it was just a signal of the intense charge that coursed through their innards, filling rapidly their capacitors, and already invading their sensornets.

 

“Ahhh, Ratchet, I...can´t...I can’t...” Knockout’s voice was a mess of half words and static.  

 

Ratchet’s taller frame let him reach his lover’s audial without ceasing his thrusts. “Let yourself go, I got you”

 

Just a klick after Knockout’s piercing cry of release broke the night, an acute shrill that could put Starscream to shame, while he spilled his load of transfluid against his and Ratchet’s ventral plates.

 

The vision of Knockout’s frame shaking under him, and his valve contractions fast and intense around his spike sent Ratchet reeling into overload. Shaken moans left his lipplates while his transfluid filled his lover to the brim.

 

The old medic had at least enough strength left to embrace Knockout’s  waist and roll their frames to the side. Ratchet cord depressurized and it slid free from confines of the Ex-Decepticon’s port. Automatic code from both mechs took control, closing the housing docks of their spikes, Knockouts’ valve access and finally swishing back in place the modesty plating.

 

They stayed like that, Ratchet embracing Knockout, while their systems adjusted slowly between whirring sound of fans, soft clicks of the plating realigning and optics going off and on in an attempt to focus properly. Cleansing could be left for later.

 

“Are you alright?” Ratchet whispered, nuzzling softly Knockout’s audial.

 

“Incredible, I swear some minor circuits vaporized out of existence...and a little sore, but a good massage with energon gel with nanites can fix it.” Knockout said, he liked being pampered and he knew very well Ratchet will get the hint.

 

“Spoiled little ‘con. Well, why not? You behaved like a champ today.  But, first let’s have some recharge, the day was taxing.” He tilted Knockouts’ helm gently until they were facing, and give him a soft tender kiss.

 

“Je t’aime.” Knockout ex-vented a sigh happily, and offlined his optics.

 

“Je t’aime, aussi, mon petit amant.” Ratchet answered to an already recharging Knockout.

  
Ratchet had looked for thoroughly through his banks of memory for that only phrase, and he planned to say it again when he had practiced enough. But in that moment he tightened slightly his embrace on Knockout and drifted into a peaceful rest.

**Notes:**

"soy muy macho" = I am very macho (not translation for last word)  
"mon ami" = my friend  
"mon amour" = my love  
"je t'aime" = I love you  
"je t'aime aussi" = I love you too  
"mon petit amant= my little lover

 

**Author's Note:**

> "soy muy macho" = I am very macho (not translation for last word)  
> "mon ami" = my friend  
> "mon amour" = my love  
> "je t'aime" = I love you  
> "je t'aime aussi" = I love you too  
> "mon petit amant= my little lover


End file.
